


the Value of Sentiment

by ullman



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ullman/pseuds/ullman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for KC (for make the yuletide gay 2007).</p><p>With a huge thank you to Caroline Crane for the beta!</p>
    </blockquote>





	the Value of Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for KC (for make the yuletide gay 2007).
> 
> With a huge thank you to Caroline Crane for the beta!

When the phone rings Chris immediately puts his beer down and reaches for it, his hand already on the receiver before he glances at the caller ID to see that it is, indeed, Lance who's calling him. Chris picks up the bottle again and sits back, shaking his head. He isn't quite ready to talk to Lance just yet, not before he finishes the one beer, at least.

 

That morning he'd been far more excited than he'd been in years about the idea of actually celebrating Christmas. Because when he woke up with Lance's warm body wrapped around his, Chris had thought it meant that Lance understood that his being there was really the one and only gift Chris wanted – and needed – that year. Any year, really.

 

Sure, he'd always known about Lance's love for grandeur, his love for the grand gestures. He'd never commented on it, because he could tell that those gestures held equally grand meaning. The cars, the motorcycle, the jewellery: Chris knew they symbolized, to Lance, how big this thing was – whatever it was – they'd shared. And even though it had surprised Chris a little how the usually freakishly eloquent Lance had yet to find whatever words he was looking for, his mother had taught him it was the thought that counted and so he'd let Lance say it with, well, _cars_.

 

But he'd had to draw the line somewhere, some things were simply too much. It had nothing to do with not liking the gifts; Chris always loved them, because if anything Lance had impeccable taste. Lance, whose eyes would light up and whose voice would hit notes he'd never reached before, when he'd ask Chris if he really, really liked the gift. It had nothing to do with not appreciating the magnitude of the things the gifts represented. And this, the meaning of this had to be huge: Chris had drawn the line at the apartment. No matter how boyishly excited Lance had looked, Chris still remembered there being actual JC-like flailing, it had simply been too much. And he'd tried to explain to Lance how sometimes, for him, it wasn't about the big things. That, cliché or not, Chris appreciated nothing more than the little, simple things. That he'd always thought Lance had understood.

 

Of course, in the end, he'd accepted the apartment – not only because he didn't know how to refuse Lance anything but also because he hoped he'd guessed the meaning of this particular gift correctly. So he'd accepted, but only on one condition, that they would make it their home, that they would decorate it together, do stuff like getting an answering machine and record a message together: simple, silly stuff like that. And as much as Chris knew that recording that kind of message together would never happen, it had been nice to pretend it would for a while. He guessed he really did like simple, maybe even slightly sappy things like that.

 

And while they'd both used the apartment on several occasions when they were in town, now, a year later, they'd only just spent their second night together there in the sparsely decorated apartment. Chris had spent a rather unfortunate Saturday afternoon at Ikea, vowing afterwards that he would never have kids. Of course it hadn't all been Lance's fault; Chris too had at times been more than a little busy. That didn't mean he didn't allow himself to feel just a little bitter every time the phone rang and he had to listen to that standard answering machine message: Lance had never brought it up again, not even when Chris had bought him a top-of-the-line answering machine and Chris had been too stubborn to bring it up himself, a little worried that he'd perhaps misread Lance's intentions with the apartment.

 

"Big night tonight," Lance said quietly after they'd finished the elaborate brunch that had been delivered early afternoon. Lance grinned, his eyes shining. "You're so going to love what I've got planned for you – "

 

"I'm sure I will." Chris smiled tightly, glancing down at his new diamond-studded watch. And then Lance suddenly mentioned guests he had to pick up and he'd left in a hurry, lips barely making contact with skin as Lance pressed a kiss to Chris' bare shoulder.

 

Maybe Lance really didn't understand.

 

The phone finally stops its insistent ringing, the sudden silence startling Chris from his reverie. When the familiar click of the answering machine sounds, Chris shakes his head once more in an attempt to clear his mind, and brings the bottle to his lips.

 

Then a deep, low rumble fills the room.

 

_You've reached Chris and Lance. We're not available right now. Please leave a message and I, Lance, will probably be the one most likely to get back to you. Thanks._

 

The machine beeps.

 

"Chris, babe, just calling to let you know everyone's here. We're – "

 

Chris can hear the smile in Lance's voice, the same smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth the moment he heard Lance's voice instead of the one he'd expected. A smile that widened when Lance for some reason thought it necessary to point out that it hadn't been Chris' voice on the machine.

 

"We're heading your way. Be there in ten. We picked up some Chinese and J says – "

 

Other voices, awfully familiar ones as well, suddenly fill the room, and even though Chris can't quite make out what they're saying since no one ever learned to shut up when someone other than Lance is talking but he doesn't miss how at least one of the voices, Chris' money is on Joey, shouts something grossly obscene. He grins, and not for the first time, admits to himself that he's a bit of a sap for having missed them almost as much as he'd missed Lance.

 

A brief silence, then, Lance returns, quietly says, "Merry Christmas, Chris."

 

Silence follows and Chris quickly wipes at his eyes, blinking rapidly, because he's really not that much of a sap. A sound suspiciously close to a giggle escapes his throat as he reaches over for his cell phone and flips it open, rolling his eyes at himself as he hits the speed dial button. He pushes himself up off the couch, glances down at the – gorgeous – watch, and waits.

 

_You've reached Chris and Lance. We're not available right now. Please leave a message and I, Lance, will probably be the one most likely to get back to you. Thanks._

 

Chris stands there, still blinking rapidly as he stares at his answering machine and decides that there's no shame in admitting, at least not to himself, that he apparently is a complete and utter sap.

 

The machine beeps again and Chris snaps his phone closed. "Merry Christmas," he whispers, smiling. He lifts the bottle in a silent toast.

 

Lance does understand.


End file.
